Belize 2007 - Introduction
Clutching the sharp limestone slivers of the cave walls, we carefully measured every step as we passed single file through the narrow gap underneath the low hanging stone ceiling. Water flowed around our ankles and mist reflected our headlights back into our eyes. We emerged into a massive cavern, latticework stalactites nestled together fifty feet above us. The Mayans believed these stalactites were the roots of the Tree of Life, descending below the earth and beyond the realm of the living. All our worldly thoughts of comfort, money, and career had been left behind an hour ago at the entrance to the cave of Actun Tunichil Muknal, and the idea that we were plunging into the depths of the ancient Mayan underworld felt fully possible.
“If the world had any ends, British Honduras would surely be one of them.” – Aldous Huxley
Belize, formerly British Honduras, lies on the eastern coast of Central America, immediately south of Mexico. I had first heard of Belize when I was working at UCLA and had just turned in my two-week notice. I had a month to kill before I started my new job, so I asked my intrepid coworker, who had just spent the past summer traveling the world alone, where I should go on vacation. Belize, he said. I was thinking more along the lines of Brazil or Peru or Japan, but he recommended Belize enthusiastically. With its diverse geography, including subtropical forest with extensive Mayan ruins and enormous caves, and over 200 island cayes within the second-largest barrier reef in the world, Belize serves as a prime destination for adventure travel. However, it is still relatively obscure as a vacation hotspot, particularly among young people. White sand beaches, warm ocean waters, and beautiful scenery are all part of the package, but it’s not the main appeal. Belize exceeds its third world roots in safety and friendliness while maintaining its laid-back, multicultural identity. It’s a rare place of vast beauty that has up to this point managed to avoid the whitewashed decadence of tourism.
Maybe some day, I thought to myself, I might go visit. Three years later, as my time with the job I had moved onto from UCLA came to an end, my old coworker's descriptions of Belize had somehow stuck in my head. I had to find out what was so great about Belize for myself. On December 1, 2007, I went on one of the best vacations I have ever had.
Along with my longtime friends from middle school, we agreed on the prices and destinations and set off on our Belizean adventure. Our group included Brandon – the seasoned traveler, Daniel – the workaholic, Randy – the moral support, and Alex – the socializer. Except for Alex, we all worked in the high-tech industry. While the others viewed our trip as a fun little trip to Central America, I viewed Belize as a fatalistic final destination. I would be starting film school soon after the trip, and with the massive loans and unstable financial nature associated with the attempt of filmmaking, I could be broke as shit for the rest of my life. As the only one of my Silicon Valley friends who lived in Los Angeles, I was seduced by the Hollywood dream-churning engine into needlessly throwing away a stable life of financial security and occasional tourist luxury. I needed some space to contemplate my decision, as the best thinking is usually done far from home. By the time December 1, 2007 came around, I was more excited about entering the exotic land of Belize, with its lush jungles and arcane ruins, than I was about starting film school. The people of Belize would be strange and fascinating, and I hoped our interactions with them would provide some much needed perspective.
Our itinerary called for us to spend our first four days in San Ignacio, in the Cayo District on the western border. This would serve as our basecamp to various Mayan sites in the Mountain Pine Ridge as well as to Tikal in Guatemala. Alex would be skipping this part of the trip and meet up with us later. We landed in Belize City after two three-hour flights and immediately hopped on a van to travel another two hours to San Ignacio. We stared out the windows at the barefoot children running in the streets, ramshackle shanties, and unpaved dirt roads. As open-minded as we assumed ourselves to be, we were still the product of upper-middle class suburban society, so the sights of Belize City caused an immediate culture shock.
The van ride was harrowing. Slowing down to 10 mph every few miles for the speed bumps placed intermittently along the highway, we grew weary from the bumpy road and cramped cabin. At one point, when the sun had set and the darkness obscured the views of the Belizean countryside, I almost drifted off to sleep. Suddenly our driver made a startled noise as he swerved left to avoid a pedestrian who appeared in the middle of our lane on the freeway. The driver somehow managed to avoid hitting both the pedestrian and the oncoming trucks in the opposite lane. He slowed down to a near stop, breathing heavily as he took a moment to gather himself. Meanwhile, we all looked at each other with concern. Almost dying on the first day didn’t seem to bode well for our trip.
We finally reached San Ignacio, safely, around 7PM. After crossing the Hawksworth Bridge, we squinted in the lights of the town’s sports stadium, which staged weekly soccer matches. The exterior of its walls were lined with advertisements for all the shops in town. We drove down the main road into the middle of San Ignacio. The intimate feel of the small town contrasted with the urban poverty of Belize City. Here, the cramped streets were brimming with life - street vendors hawking food in front of small shops and restaurants bustling with Belizean locals. To our untrained eyes, the locals were all brown-skinned Central Americans. However, as we watched and listened closer, the diverse mixture of several races became apparent. They included Creoles, Mestizos, Mayans, Garinagus, and to a lesser extent, East Indians and Mennonites. Native Belizeans spoke Spanish with each other, while the different ethnic groups spoke Belizean Kriol, and they all reserved the use of English, the official language, for tourists like us.
We checked in at Mayawalk Tours, the tour company that would guide us in all our adventures from San Ignacio. Martin, one of the guides, spent twenty minutes enthusiastically describing an underground, underwater Mayan cave that he would take us to in a few days. We were drained from the drive and still processing our new surroundings, so we could only offer polite smiles in substitute for actual conversation. We went across the street to have dinner at Eva’s Kitchen. The food was rather bland and similar to Cuban food, with black beans and rice as the staple dish of all the meals. We tried to ignore the mangy dog and malnourished cat that begged us for scraps, except for Randy who fed the dog and was rewarded by having it jumping on his lap to beg for more. Unlike the pampered dogs of America, most of the dogs in Belize are skinny and ignored like street urchin. After we quietly finished dinner, we walked uphill a block to our hotel, Martha’s Guesthouse. From this short walk, we realized that we had already explored a good portion of the town. A pleasant, heavy-set white woman greeted us in the lobby from behind her desk. She was Martha, the owner, and walked us up four flights of stairs to the top of the guesthouse and our room, the first lady suite. We went inside and were greeted by a large, upscale room with wooden floors, two king sized beds, and a small living room with tall wooden chairs and a small TV. For $90 US a night, this was a great bargain. I flung open the doors to the side balcony and saw that our room overlooked the town. Brandon and Randy had already opened the sliding glass door to the main balcony, which was the size of our room itself. There was a hammock on one side, chairs and tables on the other. From first impressions, it seemed we had lucked out big time with our accommodations.
We hung out for a bit on the balcony as the sun set behind the mountains facing us before going back into town. I felt slightly apprehensive about what we had experienced so far. Even though we were in a remote village in Belize, it didn’t feel as far away from home as I would have expected. In addition to not having to deal with a language barrier, there was also no need for us to exchange our currency, as $1US is exactly $2BZ. It didn’t seem too different from a small southern Taiwanese village, except the skin color of the locals. There were even Taiwanese people living in San Ignacio, as one Taiwanese family owned the grocery store next to the taco stands and another owned Maxim’s, the restaurant right behind our guesthouse. I knew we would have more time to get acquainted with Belize, so I tried to push my apprehension aside for the time being. We went to the grocery store and bought some snacks and Belikin beers, one of only two domestic beers in Belize. Relaxing on the balcony to the sounds of crickets buzzing and the hammock squeaking, we drank our Belikins and expressed our hope for some excitement that didn’t involve potentially dying while simultaneously inflicting vehicular manslaughter on the locals.
